


Falling Stars

by cellorose0617



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Based on a Poem, Dean thinks Cas doesn't care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Rainer Rilke, Really just hurt, Season/Series 05, introspective, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorose0617/pseuds/cellorose0617
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set season 5-ish. Dean hopes Cas will have time to visit his heaven. Cas intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Stars

**Falling Stars**

By Rainer Rilke

 

Do you remember still the falling stars

that like swift horses through the heavens raced

and suddenly leaped across the hurdles

of our wishes--do you recall? And we

did make so many! For there were countless numbers

of stars: each time we looked above we were

astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,

while in our hearts we felt safe and secure

watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,

knowing somehow we had survived their fall.

* * *

 

Dean couldn’t help but think of Cas as human sometimes. After all, he was living in the empty shell of Jimmy Novak. Cas was soft blue eyes, hesitant smiles, and a deep grumbling voice. But as Cas knelt above Dean’s stuttering chest and reached out a hand, determined to knit his broken ribs back together, Dean felt an inhuman power. 

Dean had been lying on the dusty cellar floor of an old New England church for an indeterminate period of time, blearily staring at a stained glass mural visible through the jagged hole his rapid decent had left in the floor above. The image was of angels, welcoming souls through the pearly gates of heaven. Dean had been to heaven and, even though there was no one to hear him, he groggily warned the room at large that that was not how heaven works. The angels had better things to do. 

Angels fought holy wars and stopped apocalypses. There was enough craziness to deal with among themselves without having to worry about humans. A human life was a spark in the darkness - there one moment, gone the next - nothing of importance. Dean hoped that Cas would find the time to visit his heaven after the war ended. 

A cloud of dust caused a barrage of hacking coughs, but he did not have enough energy to curl up off of the cement. When the shadows framing his vision receded, Dean realized that he was hallucinating. Looking at the mural must have reminded him of angels and his dying brain must be trying to comfort him with the image of Cas. It was a nice thought, but the real Cas was stuck in hell, pushing back Lucifer’s forces. 

As he finally blacked out, Dean wondered why his brain’s version of Cas had tears in his eyes. 

* * *

Cas couldn’t help but think of Dean as an angel sometimes. His soul was so bright that Cas’ vessel’s eyes ached upon glancing at it. The four measly years they had known each other felt as long and significant as the eons that stretched B.D. (Before Dean). Cas had been searching for Dean ever since Sam had prayed to him. The prayer echoed through his mind on repeat. 

“Cas. I know you’re busy. I know you’re fighting. I know you don’t usually listen to my prayers. But - Dean’s gone. He’s just gone - disappeared on a hunt earlier and I can’t find him anywhere. You know what - never mind. I’ll find him. You’re probably mid-battle or some shit like that. Sorry. I’ll find him - I’ve gotta find him.”

A jolt ran through Cas’ gut as he felt Dean think about him. Well, think about angels. But it was close enough to get a location and, before Dean’s thought had even finished, Cas was standing in a cloud of dust in a tiny storage room in a tiny church in a tiny town. Dean did not look like an angel now. 

His face was streaked with red and brown. His hands and clothes were covered with wood splinters explained by the gaping hole in the ceiling. The right side of his chest was concave in a way that was _wrong_ and vicariously caused Cas’ own breathing to jolt to a harsh stop. As Cas’ fingertips skittered across Dean’s torso, he contemplated the first true friendship he had ever had and wondered whether Dean had risen or he himself had fallen. 

As Dean’s skin lost its blue tinge and his chest righted its shape, Cas decided that it did not matter. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed! This is my very first posted fic ever and I am ridiculously nervous. I figure that the only way to stop being nervous is to write a lot and post a lot even if it doesn't feel perfect. Please excuse my word-vomit. All suggestions/corrections are welcome!


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